


The Fire's Out, But Still It Burns

by TeamImprov



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamImprov/pseuds/TeamImprov
Summary: Mac’s a little battered after their last mission and falls asleep on the jet. Jack feels compelled to take care of him.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	The Fire's Out, But Still It Burns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gretti_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gretti_writes/gifts).



> Prompt by smclelli on tumblr, sophiemc on AO3: Mac in a straight jacket.
> 
> Title from Flares by The Script.

It was the sweat dripping into Mac’s eyes that woke him, startled and disoriented, as he fought to remember where he was. 

His eyes struggled to adjust to the bright lights, his vision hazy and blurred, which only added to the disorientation. He blinked the salt out of his eyes, his blond hair stuck to his forehead in random patterns, and eventually his eyes cleared. 

The room was too-white. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the lights - all of it. It was blinding him, piercing into his retinas, and stabbing into his brain.There was nothing there with him, no one. Taking himself in, he found himself curled up on the floor. His body ached, his neck in particular, from having slept in such a strange and uncomfortable position. He wasn’t wearing shoes, his pants crisp and also too-white. He straightened his legs and tried to stretch them out. The movements were uncoordinated and awkward but he could do it. He wanted to do the same with his arms but immediately came up short. He couldn’t. He couldn’t move his arms and he fought against the wave of claustrophobia that hit him when he realized just how much he couldn’t move. 

He finally forced his neck to move, dipping his head, so he could see what was confining him. His arms were tucked close to his body, hugging around his stomach. The confusion washed away immediately, replaced by cold fear. 

He fought against the straight jacket, tugging his arms, as he tried to pull them free. It was tight, too tight. It was squeezing him too tight and his shoulders, his arms, hurt stuck in that position. He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t move his neck easily, but a quick glance up caused another burst of adrenaline - of fear. There were no doors, no windows, in the small space. Just walls, and ceiling, and floor, and lights, and the straight jacket choking him. 

Mac wanted to yell out for help, wanted to find something he could use to get him out, but there was nothing. There was nothing in the room and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. 

Subconsciously, Mac knew he had to get the arms over his head. If he could unloop the straps holding him in, then he would have more mobility. If he had more mobility, he could wiggle his way out, but that didn’t stop the fact that his whole body felt paralzyed. Not paralyzed, his brain corrected automatically. If he was paralyzed he wouldn’t be able to feel anything. No, he was in too much pain to be paralyzed. In fact, it was the pain that was causing the immobility - the ache deep in his shoulder blades, in his chest, and shoulders. His ribs screamed at him to not move. 

And even if he could move, even he couldn’t get out of a room with no windows and doors. 

He was stuck. Fully and completely. And it terrified him to his core. 

Where was Jack? He needed Jack. He felt his eyes flutter as his heart rate went into overdrive. His breathing, which made everything in his body feel worse, sped up as well and he fought to control it. He would never get out if he couldn’t breathe or if he passed out because of the pain. It didn’t matter, though. His body felt like it wasn’t his own. He felt like a mouse trapped on glue paper as the floor tried to suck him in. 

And then the straight jacket was forgotten completely when the floor started to do just that. He didn’t notice at first, too consumed with the confinement-induced panic, but suddenly it felt like he was sinking into quicksand. It had happened before and he knew the feeling well. First his legs disappeared and he watched the floor all but liquified and began to swallow him whole. He went deeper and deeper into the floor, until all that remained were his useless arms. Over the straight jacket, his chest, and his neck, and then the quicksand floor was at his chin. 

He tried, once more, to cry out for help. The quicksand was going to suffocate him as it buried him under the padded floor of the too-white cell. It went over his mouth, and he couldn’t breath. His nose, and he knew that was it. As the quicksand got to his eyes, he put in everything he had and cried out for Jack, even without his mouth and nose, until the quicksand covered his eyes, went over his head, and pulled him under completely. 

++

Jack hadn’t taken his eyes off Mac since they dug him out. 

Missions went wrong all the time but some of them just sucked more than others. Mac was...technically okay...despite getting buried in rubble for three hours. 

Technically okay as in he didn’t need to stay in the hospital and could travel back home on the Phoenix jet. In Jack’s definition of Mac being okay - meaning unharmed - he was decidedly not okay. 

They had a hard time moving him when they finally dug him out. The concussion wasn’t too bad. The doctors said it was okay to let him sleep. But his upper body was a mess. His left collarbone and a few ribs were broken. His left shoulder had been badly dislocated. There was no spinal damage, no internal bleeding, no collapsed lung - so they said he was okay. 

Technically okay. 

Jack still didn’t think so. 

Mac was currently sleeping in his usual spot on the Phoenix jet couch. There were pillows all around him to keep him tucked in nice and comfy on the flight home. His shoulder and collar bone were being held together by a clavicle brace and sling. He had a now-warm ice pack tucked under his arm, resting against his broken ribs. However, Jack could see that even with the support his best friend was still in a world of hurt. There were pain lines permanently etched into his forehead, between his eyes, even in sleep. His hair was messy and sticking to his forehead. He had changed into clean clothes since the explosion and subsequent rescue and hospital trip, but he was still covered in a fine layer of grim. 

He had barely moved since he laid down. 

This was technically good. 

They said it was good for him to move as little as possible. 

Jack had been watching him closely for movement. He was more than ready to step in if Mac looked like he was in any kind of distress. He believed the doctors to a degree. They may not have found any lung or internal injuries but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t present later on - later on meaning 35,000 feet in the air and far away from qualified medical personnel who were trained to handle that kind of thing. 

The first sign that Jack noticed was Mac’s left leg kicking out a little. It wasn’t much but it was enough to jostle his injuries and cause him to wince deeper and softly groan. Then, the movements became more pronounced. His head tilted on the pillow, back and forth, a few times, and his leg kicked out a little harder. His breathing increased slowly but surely and Jack decided it was time to save him from whatever was playing out in that genius brain of his. Jack didn’t hesitate to lunge out of his seat and kneel next to Mac. He didn’t know how to wake him up without startling him and jostling his injuries more but he also didn’t want him to get stuck in a nightmare - trapped and unable to move like he had been not very long ago. 

Hesitation went out the window when Mac’s twitching increased and he cried out Jack’s name. 

“Mac, wake up, bud!” Jack watched as Mac’s eye moved rapidly under his lids and a tear escaped down his cheek. It broke Jack’s heart and he could feel Riley’s nervous, worried gaze staring at him from her usual seat. 

“Jack?” She asked as Jack placed a gentle, comforting hand on Mac’s back. He used his other to brush the sweaty hair from Mac’s forehead, his eyes. 

“He’s okay.” Jack told her. Technically okay, his subconscious reminded him. “Mac, you gotta wake up for me now.”

Jack rubbed his hand soothingly up and down Mac’s back and slowly but surely he started calming down. Jack gently pulled the ice pack from underneath Mac’s arm and passed it to Riley. 

“Could you grab another one of these?” He asked quietly. “They’re in the cooler.” 

Jack watched Mac’s face intently as Riley rifled through the cooler in the corner of the jet and grabbed a new ice pack. She handed it to Jack who placed it against Mac’s ribs again. Mac shivered lightly and then immediately sagged into the couch - the pain replaced with contentedness. 

“It’s alright,” Jack whispered. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

He watched as Mac’s eyes fluttered before he was met with foggy blue. Jack watched as they tracked around for a second, taking in his surroundings, before landing on Jack. 

Jack felt his heart ache at the instant relief that played out on Mac’s face before his eyes started drifting shut again. 

“Thanks for pulling me out,” Mac mumbled, yawning, as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. 

Jack couldn’t help the soft smile that played on his face. A quick look at Riley showed her relief as well. This had been a hard day for all of them and it was the first time the concern lines were able to ease away from between her brows. 

Jack simply went back to brushing Mac’s hair off his forehead, running his fingers through the blond strands. He had felt so helpless when Mac was trapped, useless not being able to comfort his friend, and he was so grateful he was able to do it now. 

“Always, kid.” Jack promised, settling in for the long ride home. “Always.” 

The End.


End file.
